


When You Are Ashes (remember this)

by zjofierose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, LLF Comment Project, M/M, Magic, Mythology References, Paladins, Shapeshifting, background allurance, magical abilities, sheith prompt bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: In a vast desert landscape, a flame bursts into being. From it a screaming creature is born, arises, wanders around helplessly before bursting into flame again. Each time this happens, it stays a little longer, and looks a little less like a bird.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [When you are ashes, remember this.](https://pics.me.me/when-you-are-ashes-remember-this-they-will-insult-you-6606036.png)
> 
>  
> 
> with much thanks to sochi, quazydellasue, tootsonnewts, and my artists for betaing/handholding/providing feedback along the way. likewise to baronvonchop and _lazulilas for the moral support. <3
> 
> please don't miss the incredible art that goes with this piece by [paintstroke](https://twitter.com/HerPaintstrokes/status/1143335578706092032) and natelii! they did a tremendous job, and were very patient with me being terribly behind on everything. <333
> 
> please see notes at the end for additional mythology info!

The creature bursts into being in the wee hours of the autumnal night, the  _ whoosh  _ of its fire rushing through the night air. It burns bright and hot, desert critters scuttling from it in alarm as the heat of its appearance bakes the fine sand beneath it into scorched, rough-edged, fulgurites and glossy bits of glass. 

Allura sees it appear from where she sits perched on a woody branch hunting for the beetles that trawl industriously through the dark.  _ Who are you _ , she sings out as the flames settle and the creature appears,  _ who are you, what are you? _

Its hair is black as ash, skin pale as the stars, red and orange feathers sprouting from its limbs. It must hear her, because it turns its unseeing gaze unerringly toward her through the dark, the afterimage of its appearance still burned into her eyes. 

_ Who are you, _ she calls again,  _ who are you, what are you? Why are you here? _

The creature’s only response is to open its beak in a silent scream as it bursts into flame.

\--

Dawn rises late on the oasis this time of year, sleepy-headed and chilled but still gilt-fingered and lovely, limning the branches of the trees with soft, warm light. Lance is already up when Allura glides in to land, rustling his feathers mightily against the cool morning air, fluffed up and singing cheerfully to himself from a thick branch. 

_ How was it, _ he chirps,  _ what did you see? What did you see? Anything new? Anything fun? Anything exciting? _

Allura lets herself transform into her paladin-form, allowing her wings to thicken, her legs to lengthen, her face to shift until she can draw her grey feathered cloak around her where she sits and push her beaked mask up onto her head. Her long silver hair trails over the dun of her feathers, adding another layer of warmth as she folds herself into a comfortable position. 

“I don’t know,” she says, and exhales distractedly. She’d waited the rest of the night, until the sky began to shift into the deep hues of pre-dawn, but the creature had not returned. 

Lance takes his cue from her and shifts in a burst of blue, his crested mask taking shape above his tan skin, his feathered shirt a rosy hue that borrows undertones from the lightening sky. “What’s up?” he asks, settling down next to her, letting her lean against him. He preens gently, stroking his feathers into order, then starting on hers. She lets him; it’s nice. 

“I saw…,” she begins, and trails off, trying to think of how to describe it. “I was out in the sands, and there was a fireball. It just… appeared, all of a sudden.”

Lance frowns. “Like foxfire? I’ve never seen that here. My  _ abuela _ told me about it, in the swamps, they get globes of fire that hover, ghosts of things that float around.” He shudders against her. “Or like that ball lightning the Galra bring?”

“No,” she frowns, “not like either of those. It was like an explosion; one minute there was nothing, the next minute there was a ball of flame. And in the flames, there was a creature.”

“A creature? You mean like us?” Lance asks, leaning back in surprise. “A fire spirit?” 

“I don’t know,” Allura’s voice is speculative, “maybe? It had feathers like us, but it was caught between, like it didn’t know which way to go. A face with no mask, and hair like char, but feathers sprouting from its skin.”

“Did you talk to it?” Lance is tipping his head first to one side, then to the other as he thinks. It’s his  _ I’m curious _ motion, Allura knows, and she’s glad he’s free to wonder about it. The strangeness of the event is still lingering with her, unshakeable even in the light of day, leaving her uneasy and off center. 

Above them in the trees she can hear the rustling of the other birds, their lesser kin. Pidge and Hunk will wake soon too, but she still feels unsettled. She shoves herself unsubtly under Lance’s arm, and he obligingly resumes preening her. 

“I tried,” she sighs, letting the motion of his beak on her feathers restore her sense of equilibrium, “but it didn’t respond. It just looked at me, and then it burst into flames again and disappeared.”

“Weird,” Lance says succinctly, and Allura nods. “Do you think we’ll see it again?”

“I don’t know,” Allura says, her tone troubled. “And I don’t know if I want to.”

\--

_ Here? _ Lance chirps, tapping at an ashy circle of ground with his beak,  _ here, was it here? _

Allura ruffles her feathers tiredly and hops side to side. It’s well past her bedtime, the sun having long since risen, but Lance had wanted to see the place where the creature had appeared, and she had wanted to reassure herself that it hadn’t been merely a vision, a hallucination brought on by the long hours alone in the darkness.

_ Yes, _ she chirps,  _ yes, yes. Here, it was here. See? See, see?  _ She hops forward to join him, scratching at the dirt and unearthing bits of melted sand with her claws, then whistling at Lance to come look at them.

They’re busily inspecting a particularly large bit of fused earth when there comes a sudden popping above them, prompting them to both flutter hurriedly back out of the way.

The creature explodes into existence in front of them with a shriek, the ripple of heat around it visible in the bright daylight, warping the air like a mirage. Its dark eyes latch onto them in surprise, a cloud of smoke arising from its singed-looking skin as it sits in an undignified pile of feathers on the ground. 

_ Hey, hey, hey, _ Lance shouts, his voice shrill,  _ hey _ ,  _ who are you? Who are you? _

The creature blinks at him, and it’s more recognizable this time, Allura thinks. The eyes are dark and shining, almond-shaped and liquid, and though a riot of red and orange feathers spring from its arms and back, she can see long-fingered hands and the delicate arch of fully-fleshed feet.

_ Where am I, _ it screams, beak long and sharp.  _ Where am I?  _

Allura hops cautiously forward, ducking her head to show she means no harm. This is already longer than it had stayed the previous night, but she’s wary of the abrupt nature of its arrivals and departures, and the accompanying fireballs. 

_ Allura _ , she sings, unfurling her wings and letting her throat warble. _ I am called Allura. You’re safe here. Who are you? Who are you? _

The creature reaches out its hands, spreading wings wide and bobbing its head in uneven imitation of her posture.  _ His  _ hands, she amends, as the gesture reveals a thin, seemingly male, frame clad in eggshell skin. She can hear Lance shifting foot to foot near her, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. 

The flash of heat is the only warning they get before flames spring from the creature’s fingertips, an anguished shout ripping from his throat, and then he’s gone in a twist of flame and smoke, nothing but ash remaining to mark his departure.

\--

“A fireball?” Pidge asks, her hazel eyes gleaming with intrigue, “and you say it just appeared?”

“Out of nowhere,” Allura agrees, chin propped in her hand. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He appeared again a second time when we went back. Lance saw it too.”

The twilight is thick, and Lance is curled comfortably into her side, but he rouses at the sound of his name, straightening his back and frowning around at the other three. 

“I don’t like him,” he declares, and Allura rolls her eyes, “did you see those tail feathers? Eight feet long and orange, who has  _ orange  _ tail feathers?”

Hunk coughs awkwardly from across their little circle, and Lance flushes. “It’s different with yours, Hunk,” he says quickly, “they go with your whole sunshine thing, yellow and orange go good together. Everyone knows that.” 

“So what I’m hearing is that he’s prettier than Lance,” Pidge cackles, and Lance thrusts out his chest defiantly. 

“No underfed, tacky-colored, fire-bird-spirit... _ thing _ is more handsome than me!” Lance declares, flapping his arms and making his bright blue cloak flutter. “Besides, who do you want around: the bluebird of happiness, or some sooty harbinger of doom?”

Pidge rolls her eyes, but Hunk looks distressed. 

“Do we think he’s dangerous?”

“I don’t know,” Allura says slowly, “he seems… trapped, possibly. And confused.”

“Any ball of fire is dangerous to a group of trees,” Pidge points out pragmatically, gesturing around them. “What if he shows up here?”

“I don’t think he will,” Allura frowns thoughtfully, “the ground where I saw him showed no indications that he’s appeared anywhere else.”

“Maybe we can help him. What if he’s hurt?”

Allura nods at Hunk. “Yes, I think we need to all go see him.” She gazes at Lance, who has settled back down at her side, head tucked under his wing. “Hunk, you and I can go see him tonight, or at least wait to see if he appears. Pidge, you and Lance go ahead and sleep, and then we can all go at dawn before Hunk and I bed down.”

Pidge nods thoughtfully, and sidles down her branch until she’s pressed into her favorite hollow of the tree. “Be safe,” she says slowly, round eyes blinking solemnly, and Hunk leans over to rub his beak across her shoulder in reassurance. 

“We will be,” Allura says, raising an eyebrow at Hunk as she spreads her arms wide. He’s already half transformed, his yellow-clad bulk changing to tones of dun and sand as his wingspan stretches out as wide as the tree they’re in. She tosses back her head, singing sweetly into the night, and leaps into the air.

\--

_ When?  _ Hunk asks, his caw low and nervous,   _ Late. Hungry. _  He shifts uncomfortably on the cool sand of the desert floor, and Allura winces in sympathy. He would usually spend most of the night hunting, gliding the long distances his huge wings are built for in search of sustenance, but they’ve been sitting near the ashy circle in the dirt for hours. 

_ Soon _ , she sings softly,  _ Soon, patience. Patience.  _ She’s feeling a little restless herself, if she’s honest - it’s later now than it was the first time she saw it, but when they’d arrived the sand had still been warm, suggesting that the creature had appeared not long before they had. If there’s any regularity to its arrival, she can’t yet predict it, but she hopes that their midnight vigil won’t be in vain. 

Hunk’s just begun to drift off beside her when a tell-tale popping starts, and Allura wakes him roughly with a peck to his feathered toes. They watch, riveted, as the air in front of them begins to glow with heat, first red, then blue, then white, before there’s a flash and a muffled thump as a body falls to the earth in front of them.

Allura leaves Hunk with his wings over his eyes to rush forward and examine the creature in front of them. It’s different again this time, its shape closer to their paladin-form than she’s seen it yet, even slumped over on the ground. The hair is still inky black, but longer, with fiery tendrils woven through it and a proper mask pulled down over his face. The feathered cloak wrapped around his form is black at the neck before fading to purple over his shoulders, which in turn gives way to crimson, scarlet, and gold. 

_ Hello _ , Allura whispers, lifting the mask with a clawed toe,  _ hello? Okay? _

It doesn’t move for a moment, then one black eye flashes open and it bears pointed teeth, scuttling back away from her as quickly as it can.

_ What _ , it rasps, its body vibrating with tension even as it seems to droop with exhaustion,  _ what do you want? What do you want from me? _

_ To know you, _ she answers, hopping sideways and tipping her head toward Hunk.  _ Friend _ , she sings,  _ are you a friend? _

_ I have no friends. _ He pulls his feathers more tightly around himself, and Allura can’t help but notice that his face is thin and pale. What does a firebird eat, she wonders, and how would he get it if he’s trapped in a cycle of regeneration? 

_ Friends _ , Hunk affirms from beside her, and Allura welcomes his steady presence.  _ We could be friends. Want to be friends? _

The creature eyes them distrustfully, then winces.  _ Hurts _ , it says, its voice reluctant and soft.  _ Hurts to burn _ , it adds, and shifts again, revealing a long pale leg that’s beginning to smoulder.  _ Get back,  _ it shrieks suddenly, and Allura makes no bones about leaping ungracefully backward as the creature’s eyes begin to glow with the flame that bursts into being around it. 

It disappears with a crackle and a flash of light, its pained scream echoing in the now silent night as they stand momentarily blinded by its departure. 

_ Sad _ , Hunk observes softly into the quiet air.  _ Sad and alone. We should help. What should we do? _

Allura nods absently in agreement, ruffling her feathers in thought. 

_ Shiro _ , she chirps finally.  _ Shiro will know. Talk to Shiro. _

\--

Lance shifts forms swiftly, settling his cloak around his shoulders and reaching out with reddened hands to take the steaming bowl of tea from the man in front of him. The clay vessel is warm between his palms and he holds it close, letting the heat radiate into his chest. It’s cold up here on top of the mesa where the oldest of them makes his home, and it was a chilly and challenging flight for him through the gusting winds and capricious updrafts to reach Shiro’s small round house. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Shiro nods graciously, settling down across from Lance on the other side of the small fire pit. 

“It’s good to see you,” Shiro smiles. “I don’t get a lot of visitors up here other than Hunk.” 

Lance eyes Shiro’s muscular bare arms and chest, his steel grey cape laid over a stool nearby, and shivers. “Too cold,” he says decisively, “but you should come visit soon. Pidge always loves it when you do.”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods and takes a sip from his own small tea bowl, “yes, it’s been a little while.” He takes another drink, and the silence falls between them, comfortable in spite of Lance’s restless preening. “What brings you here?” Shiro asks after a moment, and Lance opens and closes his mouth a couple times, trying to think of how to explain.

“Allura found something in the desert,” he says finally, setting his cup down so that he can gesture. “Like us, but not like us. Maybe half like us? No mask, no cloak, not when I saw it, but feathers, and…”

Shiro frowns. “A bird spirit?”

“I don’t know? It comes and goes, and it’s a little different every time, that’s what Allura says.”

“Who’s seen it?”

“Allura’s seen it the most,” Lance picks his mug back up and cradles it against his face. “Hunk and Pidge and I have all seen it, too. It’s not sun-sickness, it’s real.”

“I didn’t doubt it,” Shiro says kindly, “you said it comes and goes. How?”

Lance bites his lip. “In a ball of fire,” he answers, and watches as Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. “You can see the shimmer before it appears, and then it just… I don’t know where it comes from.”

“But it looks like us?”

“Yeah,” Lance nods furiously, “he’s got black hair and feathers on his head, but his arms and legs have red and orange feathers, like some sort of… fiery... bird… thing! But, Shiro, he comes and goes fast. I don’t think he knows how to control it, and.” Lance pauses.

“And?”

“And when he disappears, it’s because he explodes in flames. And Allura said that when she saw him last night, he said it hurts.” Lance looks at Shiro imploringly. “We thought you might know something about what he is, or… what to do.”

Shiro doesn’t speak, but rises and holds out a hand for Lance’s cup. He takes it and carefully refills both it and his own, and when he returns to sit again his face is troubled. 

“I’ve heard of firebird spirits, but I’ve never seen one. I don’t know what would make one appear, but it sounds like it needs our help.”

Lance nods somberly. Seeing it himself had been unnerving enough, but it had seemed almost animal to him, otherworldly. From what Hunk had described, though, it’s become progressively more lucid and also more able to communicate that it’s in pain. He’s not thrilled at the idea of an interloper. He’s never liked sharing his friends or his home with wanderers, but he’s not a monster— if there’s something they can do to keep this creature from being caught in a cycle of painful destruction, they should do it.

“Drink your tea, Lance,” Shiro says, reaching out to snag his grey feathered cloak and wrap it around his shoulders. Thunder rumbles faintly in the distance, and Lance wraps his fingers more tightly around the cup. “We’ll see what we can do.”

\--

“There’s no way to know when it will appear,” Allura warns, and Shiro nods in understanding. Her face is drawn with fatigue, a reflection of her usual nocturnal nature being denied, and Lance shuffles closer in support. The sun is warm on all of them where they stand in a semi-circle around the circle of scorched earth. Pidge is nearly bouncing with excitement, poking at the dirt, holding pieces up to the sun to examine them, chirping away to herself and eating the occasional bug. Hunk watches her with his eyes half-lidded, wavering on his feet.

“What do you think it is?” Allura asks in an undertone, and Shiro pauses, considering.

“I’ve heard tales of firebirds that possess the powers of death and rebirth,” he says after a moment. “They contain the heat of a star and are omens of change. But I’ve never seen one, or known of one.” He shrugs, the sun turning the colors of his mask from dun to silver. “I can’t say whether that’s what your creature is or not. Not yet.”

Allura opens her mouth to answer, but they’re distracted by a sudden popping from the air in front of them. Pidge leaps back instinctively toward the rest, but Shiro steps forward, clouds trailing in the edges of his cape. 

The creature lands face down in front of them this time when the fireball clears, licks of flame fading from its skin. It doesn’t raise its head, just lies and smoulders, shoulders heaving. 

“Hey,” Shiro’s voice is soft, and even from a distance it’s clear that his touch is kind on the creature’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Get back,” the creature hisses, its voice ragged, but it doesn’t pull away. “I’ll hurt you.”

“With your fire?” Shiro asks, and the creature pulls himself upright, his skin red and sore where it’s visible beneath the edges of his cloak. It’s the first time Lance has seen him with a proper mask, but he pushes it back to glare at Shiro, dark eyes flashing in the pink-singed pallor of his face. 

“ _ Yes _ , with my fire, you idiot. Get. Back.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Shiro tells him with patient certainty, and the creature’s face works its way through disbelief to anger to resignation. “What’s your name?”

There’s a sudden crackle and the creature stares at his hands in despair as they begin to smoke. “It’s starting,” he cries, and shoves hard at Shiro’s chest as his eyes go orange and flames begin to spring from his fingertips. 

A loud boom echoes around them as Shiro wraps his arms around him and the heavens open abruptly, a sudden, extremely localized cloudburst that leaves a steaming puddle at their feet. The creature’s eyes look utterly shocked, his expression one of total surprise as Shiro steps back from him. 

“Better?” Shiro asks, and the creature stares at him dumbly for a long moment, wet through and dripping, his hair a riot of soaked black feathers sticking every direction. His face changes slowly as they watch, from shock to a look of awe so intense that Lance has to look away. 

“It,” he starts, then has to pause and clear his throat. “It… doesn’t hurt.”

“Good,” Shiro says, and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair back behind the edge of the stranger’s mask. “I’m Shiro. What’s your name?”

The creature… the boy? No, the man, Lance thinks, young though he obviously is, he’s not a child. The man clears his throat again, looking away, then back at Shiro, his gaze so sharp and devoted that Lance can hear Pidge choke on air to his side. Neither party pays the rest of them any mind.

“Keith,” the man says at last, eyes locked on Shiro’s, “I think I’m Keith.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been three seasons since Keith came to the oasis, first under the promised safety of Shiro’s ever-present clouds and rain, then on his own accord when it became clear that his fiery cycle was broken. Time has made companions of them all, even of Keith and Lance, much as they pick at each other. Still, Keith is most himself when Shiro turns up, Lance thinks, watching as Keith settles in at Shiro’s side, shyly tucking his head under Shiro’s wing. Their size difference in bird-form is a little ridiculous, but then Hunk and Shiro are both enormous compared to the rest of them. Regardless, it looks a little like Shiro swallowed an especially luxuriant piece of Indian Paintbrush when only Keith’s tail feathers are sticking out from under his wing. 

Keith shifts first, his form shimmering with heat the way it always does when he transforms, leaving him perched on a low, sturdy branch with his cape hanging down and glinting in the evening light. They’d asked when he’d first arrived what he needed, what he ate, and he’d looked confused. “Light, I think,” he’d said, and it had proven true - Keith spends his days flying ceaselessly over the open sand, soaking up the rays of the sun, and settling in with Pidge and Lance in the oasis to sleep at night. He runs hot, the heat of banked embers making him a welcome friend in the rainy season, his radiant warmth helping keep their feathers warm and dry.

Nonetheless, the sun is what keeps him here, Lance knows. He’d stayed with Shiro at first, and still does on occasion, but he can’t stay long- the top of Shiro’s mesa is too full of fog and clouds to sustain Keith for an extended period, while the oasis itself is too hot and dry for Shiro to remain beyond a day or two. 

It’s a little sad, Lance thinks, watching as Shiro shifts, his massive form compacting itself into a broad-shouldered man with kind, dark eyes and a grey mask that he tips up over his white forelock. Keith shivers as a stray puff of cloud detaches from Shiro’s cloak and slides over his cheek, and Shiro wraps an arm around him as secure as the wing that had previously been there. 

_ Hey _ , Pidge chirps, tumbling in beak over claws and barely managing to right herself before she plows into the water, _ hey, hey! Wake up! Wake up! _

Lance swoops down from his perch and hops in front of her.  _ What? What’s up? What’s new? What’s wrong? _

_ Gamayun _ , Pidge trills urgently, and Lance turns just as the spirit in question flies in behind Pidge to land in the center of their circle, scratching at the ground with its talons and looking around it with its eerie all-seeing eyes. 

Shiro shifts back immediately with an ominous crack, one giant wing hiding Keith entirely from view and the other open to Pidge, who promptly ducks under it, darting back and forth beneath the shelter of Shiro’s bulk. 

_ What do you want _ , she shrieks, her small voice shrill with anger,  _ say what you say, tell us, tell us. _

The gamayun says nothing, just caws to itself and looks around, waiting as Allura and Hunk emerge from their nests, Hunk coming to settle nervously near Lance while Allura advances regally in front of all of them, swooping down to the base of the tree while the rest remain in the branches.

Allura settles into her paladin-shape and approaches, smoothing the feathers of her cape and kneeling before the gamayun as it looks her over with its piercing stare.

“Elder sister,” she says calmly, “be welcomed. What news do you bring us?”

The gamayun eyes her consideringly, and ruffles its wings before opening its human mouth. 

“The Galra are coming,” she says, and as many times as Lance has heard it before, the sound of the gamayun’s speech never fails to raise all the feathers on his neck. It echoes and ripples, a woman’s voice but with many tones, a sound like roaring water or rushing wind curling through it. “They are massing an army.”

“It is expected,” Allura says politely, dipping her head, “every year they come to steal our water; every year, we let them take enough, and then chase them away.”

“Not enough,” the gamayun shrieks, “never enough for the Galra. This year, more. This year, all. This year, they come to kill you. This year, they come to claim this place for them, forever.” 

Lance feels his stomach drop to his scaly toes. The Galra are fierce and fearsome enough already; he dreads the yearly confrontation, and the thought of it being life or death, of it being for their entire home and existence is terrifying. He clacks his beak, pressing nervously against Hunk’s huge, feathered legs.

“They seek to displace us?” Allura asks carefully, “but the Oasis of Voltron has been ours from the beginning of the world.”

“Not enough,” the Gamayun says again, words echoing like a harbinger bell. “New leaders. Greedy, fearsome. They want what you have, and will take it from you.”

“New leaders,” Allura’s eyebrows rise up her regal forehead. “Who? The Galra have always acted en masse. Who seeks to lead them?”

“Haggar. She who was once a sister of mine,” the gamayun says, and if it’s possible to detect feeling in the voice of a prophetic spirit, Lance would say she sounds apologetic. “Beware her songs - she will sing to you of dreams, of sleep, of silence, and will enslave your mind.” She shifts, and shakes her head. “Even worse, her mate, Zarkon.”

“Zarkon,” Allura breathes, her voice trembling with fear and fury, “I know that name. Zarkon is the gryphon who killed my father.”

“The same,” the gamayun agrees, and spreads her wings for take-off. “Beware,” she screams as she leaps into the sky, “beware! Beware!”

\--

Lance and Pidge are slow to settle in the wake of the gamayun’s visit, while Hunk folds his wings tightly around his bulk and attempts to blend in with the tree trunk. Keith shows no outward signs of concern, but he’s quiet even for his usual reserve. 

“What will you do?” Keith asks finally, once Lance and Pidge have nested for the night, as Allura and Hunk are preparing to fly out for their nightly rounds. Shiro should be leaving as well, but he finds himself unwilling in the wake of the disruption. He can wait till dawn, he decides. The days tax him much more than the nights anyway, he’ll be fine to fly home before sunrise. 

“We’ll fight them,” Allura says matter-of-factly, her calm tone slightly undermined by the regular ruffling of her feathers. “Just as we always do. We have been fighting the Galra for as long as I can remember; this changes nothing.”

“How can this not change things?” Keith insists, “You heard what Elder Sister said - this is different.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Allura says sternly. “We know now what they are plotting, and we will have the advantage over them. We will be triumphant.”

Keith shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue further, but Shiro takes him by the elbow, and Keith falls silent, stepping back to stand at Shiro’s side as Shiro runs a comforting hand down his arm. 

“It may be hard,” Shiro says, “but Allura is right - knowing what they are planning is already a help. There’s no reason to fear.”

“I’m not  _ afraid _ ,” Keith hisses, and Shiro drops his grip on Keith’s arm as it goes hot under his touch. “This is different, I can feel it. This is  _ worse _ .” His face is nearly desperate, flashing Shiro back to the terrified look he’d worn when Shiro had first laid eyes on him, a smouldering gaze and helpless anger in the line of his mouth as he’d pushed Shiro away.

Allura looks conflicted behind him, and Hunk is stretching his wings in preparation for flight, so Shiro tips his head at them in tacit acknowledgment. He knows they want to help, but don’t want to intrude. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, and tips Keith’s chin up with a long-taloned finger. “I’m listening. Tell me what you feel.”

The fight goes out of Keith like his strings have been cut, and he drops his face to the hollow of Shiro’s shoulder, his hair smelling as always of soot and ash.

“Okay,” he mumbles into Shiro’s skin, his lips like brands, “I’ll tell you.”

\--

_ Keith was right _ , Allura gasps out, skidding to a rest next to Shiro at the edge of the trees. Her claws and the tips of her wings stir up dust from the ground in front of them as she shifts, and Shiro closes his eyes until the swirl abates, opening them to see her in her cape and dress, hair tied up for battle. The Galra are retreating for the night to lick their wounds, but after three days of fighting, Allura is looking exhausted, her feathers dusty and bedraggled, and Shiro knows he’s not much better himself. “This is much worse than I expected.”

Shiro nods silently. Keith was indeed right, and they all know it. Lance had cornered him just the night before, cheeks flushed and blue feathers standing out in anger. 

_ How _ , he shrilled,  _ how did you know? How did you know? One of them? One of them? One of them? _

_ No _ , Keith shrieked right back, his phoenix-form still one of the most glorious things Shiro’s ever seen, even as his wings spread threateningly wide and his eyes flame with anger.  _ No, never. _

_ How do you know, _ Lance insisted, advancing on him until Keith was backed up against the water of the oasis itself, casting panicked glances over Lance’s shoulders at Pidge, Hunk, Allura.  _ Where do you come from? _

_ Sense it,  _ Keith choked out,  _ I feel their magic. I knew. I knew. Knew they were worse, knew there were too many.  _

_ Keith is our friend, _ Pidge interjected, swooping between them and diving at Lance’s head, emerald feathers flying,  _ Keith is our friend! He wouldn’t hurt us! He wouldn’t! _

The lie was evident in her words even as she spoke them, with Keith shrinking back from her defense of him in a desperate attempt not to light her beautiful tail on fire. Even at peace, he cannot help but be a danger to them all, Shiro thinks sadly, merely by the fact of what he is. Only with Shiro is he truly safe. Only with Shiro can he ever relax his control. 

Allura settles next to him with a sigh, looking out over the smouldering plain in front of them. The bodies of a hundred Galra, their slick purple-black feathers oily and iridescent, lie abandoned on the ground, rotting where they fell. Shiro tries not to think of how much they remind him of the feathers at Keith’s nape, of the sheen on Keith’s hair. 

The Galra will regroup in a matter of hours - they fight day and night this time, unlike before when the battles would begin before dawn but be ended by sunset. Soon Hunk will transform, spreading his enormous wings and carrying boulders, logs, cacti ripped up from the roots to drop on unsuspecting camps. Shiro himself will fly out, dragging his clouds behind him and emptying them upon the Galra, drowning them where they stand, sending flash floods roaring down the arroyos to sweep them away under the cover of darkness. 

Allura will have spent the day singing to them, weaving visions and illusions while Pidge flung her rainbows and lights, distracting and ensnaring. With the help of Lance cheerfully chirping misinformation from soldier to general and back, they can do a lot to tangle the Galra forces in nets and traps of their own making, to trick them into self-destruction, but it’s not enough. Even with Shiro and Hunk raining destruction by night, it’s not nearly enough.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Keith, Shiro thinks they would have lost by now, but Keith is drawing deep, producing fireball after fireball to greet those who follow Allura’s enchanted songs or are tricked by Pidge’s beautiful illusions. He’s fanned flames into wildfires, sparking destruction with every flap of his wings. 

And still the Galra keep coming. 

“What do we do?” Allura whispers, and Shiro looks at her helplessly, sharing the fear he shows no one else. 

“We keep fighting,” he says finally, and lets his head droop. “We have no other choice.”

\--

On the evening of the sixth day, Keith finds him. He bears a sharp blistered mark up his cheek from an enchanted Galra lightning burst incurred in the hard-fought defeat of Zarkon, and the feathers across his shoulder and neck are singed. Shiro is soaking his wounded pinions in the oasis, gritting his teeth against the sting.

“It’s not enough.”

Keith’s voice is quiet, but Shiro hears him clearly, and unfolds a tired wing to wrap around his shoulders. Even in his more substantial paladin-form, the wing covers Keith from neck to knees, and he leans trustingly into Shiro’s feathered shoulder. 

It’s a lull, but Keith’s right. Their efforts are not enough. The Galra keep coming, an inexorable tide, and regardless of Zarkon’s death and Haggar’s apparent descent into madness, nothing they can do seems enough to stop them. 

The oasis of Voltron will be theirs. The paladin-birds will be driven out to wander, nomads in a harsh and unforgiving desert. 

The heat of Keith’s body against his wing joints is comforting, and Shiro lets himself tuck his massive head against Keith’s neck, sighing as Keith’s fingers comb gently through his feathers.

“I think I know how to stop them,” Keith says, voice low and rough, and Shiro freezes. 

_ How _ , he asks,  _ how can we do it _ ? 

“Change back,” Keith pushes at Shiro’s shoulder, ducking out from under his wing. “I want to see your face.”

It goes slowly, and takes more strength than he would like to admit, but Shiro obliges, pushing himself through the myriad aches and pains of war into his paladin-shape, letting Keith draw him down in the mud until his head is in Keith’s lap and Keith can wind his fingers into Shiro’s hair. He’s nervous, Shiro can tell, but it’s hard not to sink into the warmth of Keith’s skin, into the repetitive motion of his hands, as Shiro waits patiently for Keith to finds his words. 

“I would need your help,” Keith says finally, “I don’t think I can trigger it on my own.”

“Trigger what?”

Keith bites his lip, and Shiro fills with trepidation. He reaches a hand up to stroke along Keith’s cheek, and Keith pushes his head into it, burying his face in Shiro’s palm.

His reply is a murmur. “I think that I can burn them out. But I need your lightning to do it.”

Shiro frowns. “What do you mean, you could burn them out?”

“I think,” Keith pauses, takes a deep breath. “I think that, if I were close enough to Haggar, and you were to strike me with your lightning…”

“Wait, Keith, I don’t…”

“Listen to me,” Keith whispers fiercely, and Shiro shuts his mouth. “I don’t know where I come from, but I think I may be… more like them than like you. I think that, if I were struck by your lightning, I would… I would explode. I would burn them up, and I would ignite their magic.”

Shiro sucks in a breath, eyes wide. “Keith, how do you know this?”

“I don’t,” Keith says, “not for sure. But… I feel it. It feels right. When I’m close to her, I can feel her pull. I can sense their magic, I can feel their lightning before it strikes.”

“Keith,” Shiro sits up, taking in Keith’s wide eyes, the determined set to his mouth, and pulls him close. Keith goes willingly, his arms wrapping around Shiro’s waist, head coming to rest on Shiro’s chest. “What would that do to you?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admits, and Shiro can hear the waver of fear beneath the calm tone. “It would probably destroy me.”

“Then you can’t do it,” Shiro says firmly, “the oasis is not worth your loss.”

“How can you say that?” Keith pushes off from him angrily. “How long do you think Hunk will last without water? How far do you think Pidge will be able to fly in the heat of the day? How safe do you think Lance and Allura will be from night-hawks and jaguars sleeping out in the open?” He stares at Shiro, hurt and desperation as clear in his eyes as the courage. “I’m not one of you. I’m the outlier, the mystery. And if I can save you all, I  _ will _ .”

“You need my help to do it,” Shiro reminds him, and watches helplessly as Keith’s face falls.

“Help me, Shiro,” Keith turns to him fully, settling onto his knees, his tone pleading. “This is the  _ only  _ choice. I can feel it. Help me save our friends.”

Shiro passes a hand over his eyes. He feels old, and weary, and like the gamayun should have ripped his heart out with her clawed feet at the start. He used his rain to save Keith, the idea of using his lightning to destroy him is unthinkable. 

“If it didn’t destroy you, what would happen?”

Keith hums to himself for a minute, thoughtful. 

“I think it would burn out my fire. I’d be trapped like this,” he spreads his bare arms, “forever. I think.”

Shiro’s heart drops. The transformation is a fundamental part of who they are. He can’t imagine being locked into one shape for the rest of his life. “To never fly again,” he starts, but Keith shakes his head sharply.

“To never burn,” Keith answers, and Shiro nods slowly. It’s easy to forget, with all of Keith’s grace, but the pain is as much a part of his nature as is the transformation. He may glory in flight even more than the rest, his beautiful red and orange wings glittering under the desert sun, but each shift brands him with suffering. 

“To be trapped on the ground,” Shiro points out carefully, but Keith offers up a lopsided smile. 

“You think Hunk wouldn’t give me rides?”

Shiro cradles the curve of Keith’s skull in his hand. “Gods, Keith, even if you did survive…”

“I’d be alone,” Keith says softly, and Shiro’s heart breaks. 

“You wouldn’t,” Shiro assures him, his voice thick as he pulls Keith into his arms and holds him close, ignoring the pain from his arm. “You could stay here in the oasis, you know the others would still love you. You could come stay with me, too. We’d never abandon you.”

Keith laughs softly, a faint hiccup in his voice. “How would I even get up to your mesa, Shiro? If I can’t fly?”

“We’ll find a way,” Shiro vows, burying his face in that dark hair, filling his nose with sulfur. “I’ll never give up on you.”

Keith just clutches him wordlessly.

\--

“Allura,” Shiro catches her before the dawn, tipping his head so that she walks with him into the dark edge of the trees. “I need your help.”

“What is it?” Her voice is hoarse with sleep and with singing, but her eyes are as sharp as ever. 

Shiro exhales. “Keith thinks he knows how to stop them. But it would…” he can’t finish, and Allura nods in understanding. 

“Do you think he’s right?” she asks carefully. 

“I don’t see any reason to doubt him. He’s been right about every prediction he’s made about the Galra so far.”

“You think he’s one of them,” Allura says softly.

“I don’t,” Shiro corrects sharply, “not in any way that matters. But I do think he’s tied to them in ways he can’t explain, and I trust what he senses.” Shiro sighs. “If he says this is the way to stop them, I believe him.”

“...but?”

“But there must be a way to do it without losing him,” Shiro whispers. “Allura, we can’t… I can’t lose him.”

Allura is quiet for a long time, watching as the horizon lightens and paints itself in pale colors, the innocent pinks and peaches of any new day, unknowing of the massacre it will light as it rises. 

“What would you give, Shiro?” she asks, her voice distant as she peers into that internal space of magic that is her own peculiar heritage. “To save him, what would you give?”

“Anything,” Shiro vows, his voice firm and his response immediate. “I’d give anything to save him.”

Allura hums thoughtfully, and they stand in silence for a long moment, the sound of the night insects whispering around them. “There may be a way,” she says at last. “Am I right that he thinks to blow out Haggar’s magic?”

Shiro nods. “He says that if he channels my lightning, he can ignite not only her, but her druids as well, and also the Galra around them for a hundred wingspans.”

“What does he think might happen if he is not consumed?”

“That he would be trapped in his paladin-form forever.” 

Allura wrings her hands together, her beautiful face taut with sadness and resolution. “If, instead of blowing out all of Haggar’s magic, he could channel a piece of it for himself, perhaps that would be enough to protect him. For all that it is twisted, her magic is generative. Combined with the purity of your lightning…” she nods decisively. “It’s the best shot we’d have.”

Shiro feels his stomach clenching. “How would this be accomplished?”

“Go and find Keith,” Allura says, her turquoise eyes luminous, “and bring him here. I will make you both a song.”

\--

The plan, such as it is, is simple: Lance will spread rumors to gather all of the Galran druids together with Haggar in the center of the flock; Pidge and Allura will distract the rest of the forces with enchantments and delusions. Once the druids and leaders of the Galra are all in place, Keith and Shiro will light them up while Hunk takes care of any stragglers. 

Simple plans are always best, Shiro is a firm believer in this- the fewer moving pieces, the fewer things that can go wrong. And yet, this one, like so many others goes astray almost from the first. 

Keith is tired. They’re all tired, so Shiro hasn’t thought much about it, if he’s honest; he’s nursing his own wounded wing, and they’re all exhausted and hungry and covered in bumps and bruises. But the clouds the Galra have summoned to produce their lightning storms have taken a toll on Keith, who needs the sunlight to live, and he is more weakened than he has let show, more drawn than Shiro had realized.

Lance goes first at the first blush of dawn, camouflaged by a thin enchantment that turns his bright plumage dark and glossy, chirping cheerful disinformation into an ear here, a group of Galra there. He returns quickly, and the results of his work are already visible from where the rest of them sit high in the trees, watching the vast flock of Galra as movements ripple and eddy throughout the whole. 

_ Us next, _ Pidge calls, and she and Allura take flight, Allura’s voice raised and Pidge trailing flickering rainbows in her wake. The sea of Galra give chase, whirlpools of motion swirling after Pidge’s flashes of color, sinking away from Allura’s shrill cries. 

“Ready?” Shiro asks, holding a hand out to Keith where he sits to Shiro’s side. Keith takes his hand and lifts his chin defiantly, the circles under his burning eyes deep and purple. His fingers are already hot against Shiro’s skin, and they shift together, Shiro’s wings spread wide above Keith’s shimmering heat. They launch into the air as Shiro pulls clouds together to hide them, Hunk’s vast wings flapping behind them as they make straight for the heart of the Galra flock. 

They will never know whether it was a leak in their plan, a fault in their disguise, or simply Haggar’s attunement to Keith’s presence that gives them away, but lightning comes out of nowhere to split the cloud around them, a sharp wind blowing Hunk off course with a muffled shout. Shiro curses and looses a downpour, but it’s of little effect - a whirlwind circles the druids on the ground, blowing away any rain before it touches them. Lightning strikes all around them again, and he hears Keith give a wrenching gasp beneath him.

When Shiro blinks away the spots from his sight, the damage is evident - Keith is caught in a purple glow, stuck between forms again and struggling to stay in the air. Shiro dives for him, clutching at Keith’s body with his talons, and manages to wrap a clawed foot around Keith’s midsection even as he battles the wind that buffets his wings, body screaming in protest at the extra strain on his damaged wing. It’s all going down fast, he knows, and Keith locks eyes with him even as Shiro’s desperate flight begins to fail.

“Do it, Shiro,” Keith yells, “you have to. Do it now.” Keith’s eyes are a burning gold now, the tips of his fingers beginning to burst into flame. “ _ Shiro _ ,” Keith says, and Shiro can’t hear the next words so much as he sees the shape of them on Keith’s lips. 

Shiro shifts even as he pulls more power into his body than he ever has before, and then he’s falling, his world exploding around him as he channels every ounce of heavenly electricity he can summon straight into Keith’s igniting fire. The world goes white, and the last things he knows are the touch of Keith’s fingers on his own and the rattled, desperate shout of his own response.


	3. Chapter 3

A great hush falls across the desert. The cloud of smoke hides the sun for many days;  the only indication of the solar cycle are periods of increasing heat that fade into stretches of heavier, cooler darkness. 

Allura comes to her senses first and pulls herself to her feet, coughing thickly. Her cape is in tatters, her mask split down the middle. She gathers the remnants around her and begins to walk, singing as she goes. 

It’s a little thing, but she can feel the ground beneath her respond to her voice, a faint breath of flowers rising from the dust of her footsteps, a whisper of rain on the wind when she lies down to rest. 

On what she thinks is the morning of the second day, she hears Lance tweeting faintly. She wraps her cape carefully about her and calls out to him until she can follow his song to where he’s hidden himself beneath an outcropping. There’s just light enough for her to make out the smear of his blue feathers against the unrelenting thick grey-brown that surrounds them. 

They hold each other for a long time, but as the darkness thickens and a faint breeze begins to blow, Allura turns to him. “Tell me about happiness,” she says, and Lance shifts in her arms and begins to sing.

When they wake, it is possibly lighter than before, and so they step out onto the sand together, Allura’s song leading the way. 

\--

It’s becoming cooler and dimmer again, the intermittent breeze picking up more strongly, when they hear a sudden loud rush of wings above them. Allura steps forward defiantly, staring into the gloom, singing out a challenge with Lance’s hands strong on her shoulders. 

_ Who is it _ , she calls,  _ who are you, who goes there, what do you want? _

There’s a tremendous rustling and flurry directly in front of them as a massive shape grounds itself to earth. Lance draws a sharp breath in her ear, and then is suddenly streaking forward to fling his arms around Hunk as he shifts into paladin form, hugging Lance back until his ribs crack. He holds an arm out for Allura as she approaches with relief, and they cling to each other as the smoky haze swirls around them, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“I thought I’d lost you guys,” Hunk says, his voice thick with more than ash, “I woke up and I could barely tell up from down, and there was no one anywhere.”

“You were flying,” Allura notes, “could you see anything?” 

“No,” Hunk shakes his head and gestures at the miasma that surrounds them. “This goes as high as I could. There’s air moving at the top of it, but it’s slow.”

Allura nods. “The only way to dispel the effects of magic is with magic,” she says thoughtfully, and takes Lance by the hand. “Hunk, will you change back? Can you fly above us and use your wings to make a wind?” 

Hunk shifts quickly, his wings spreading out wide, the rush of his ascent pushing past them in a great gust. Allura turns to Lance, the air clear enough that she can make out the blue of his eyes for the first time since the explosion that ended the world. “Sing with me,” she says.

The dark that night is darker, and the light when they wake is lighter. The wind moves around them even when Hunk settles to the ground, ruffling their feathers and whispering in their ears like a lost friend.

\--

“I’ve looked for Pidge,” Hunk tells them on what is becoming more obviously the morning of the fourth day, “but I couldn’t find her.” He’s worrying his hands together, pulling at the feathers on the edge of his dusty gold cape. 

“What do you think of when you think of Pidge?” Allura asks, and Hunk pauses. 

“Life,” Hunk says finally, “the cleverness of growing things. Her curiosity, her excitement.” 

“Her quickness!” Lance interjects, and Allura nods. The air has cleared enough that they can now make out the shapes of the mountains on the horizon, can orient themselves in a way that should point them back to the oasis, though it’s still impossible to judge distance. 

“Mind giving us a lift?” Allura asks, and Hunk nods easily, moving into his bird-shape with a burst of scented spice. Allura shifts for the first time since the battle, her wings bedraggled and awkward, her feathers singed and half missing. Lance hops closer and preens her carefully, pushing her displaced wing feathers carefully back into something like order, but she shakes him off gently. 

_ Come _ , she sings, climbing carefully onto Hunks broad back,  _ fly. Ride. Sing of Pidge. Find her. Go home. _

\--

They find Pidge at last where she’s nestled at the top of a massive cactus, her long brilliant tail feathers the only spot of color against its whole right side, burned black and grey by a lightning strike. She hurls herself chittering from the top of it when she hears their approach, tucking herself under Hunk’s broad arm and looking like she may never come out. 

The cactus is huge, one of the largest of its kind, and full of food for all of them. They settle in at the base, Hunk’s huge wings sheltering them all as the night grows dark, Lance and Pidge chirping cheerfully to each other across Hunk’s bulk as Allura lets herself indulge in some much needed rest.

Lance wakes her gently before dawn with a kiss to her cheek and a finger pointed toward the sky. “Look,” he says, “a star.”

It takes a moment for her eyes to focus enough to see it, but sure enough, fading in and out of the cloud cover is a lone point of light, flickering steadily in the purple gloom. 

“Hey,” Lance whispers, wiping the moisture from her cheeks, “it’s going to be okay. We’re all together again.”

She lets herself settle against him, eye on the star that’s shining faintly, hopefully, above them.

“What about Shiro?” she asks, pausing for a moment before adding, “and Keith?”

She can feel Lance sigh beneath her cheek, but he makes no response, simply busies himself with stroking his fingers through her feathers where they’re beginning to grow back.

\--

“I fixed your mask,” Pidge says on the morning of the fifth day, holding it out to Allura, “the sap from the cactus makes great glue.”

“Thank you,” Allura’s voice is wondering as she takes it in her hands. Sure enough, it’s whole, and while some of the feathers are still slightly singed or crooked, she feels more herself with it back on her head than she has since the explosion of light and wind knocked them all from the sky. 

Dawn is breaking, and the smoke is fading into fog and cloud, a humid mass that carries the scents of flowers and trees and rebirth. There’s a smudge on the horizon that she thinks, she hopes, is the oasis. 

She takes Lance and Pidge by the hand as Hunk launches himself into the air above them.

“Let’s go home,” she says, and they begin to walk. 

\--

They walk through the day and into the night, stepping into the gloom of their trees as the moon rises over Shiro’s mesa, a deep gold sickle. Everything is covered with a layer of ash, but the trees are still standing, the night birds still calling, and Allura feels a piece of her heart unclench as they walk to their nesting tree. 

“I miss Shiro,” Pidge whispers later, as they settle into their various nooks and hollows, her voice sad and low. 

“And Keith,” Lance adds, and Hunk hoots mournfully from above them. “What do you think happened to them?”

“I don’t know,” Allura answers, and whistles to herself, a tiny, hopeful, refrain. “I don’t know.”

\--

_ Allura, Allura _ , Pidge shrills out,  _ Allura, come quick, come quick, come see, come see! _ She skids to a stop in front of Allura’s nest, bouncing from foot to foot in agitation.  _ Quickly! Quickly! _

_ What is it, what is it, _ Allura trills back, launching herself into the air from her branch, following swiftly behind as Pidge streaks for the water’s edge,  _ Galra? Gamayun? Gryphon? _

_ No _ , Pidge chirps, landing in a rush, her tail feathers dragging in the mud as she hops frantically around two pale lumps on the shore,  _ look! Look! Look! _

“Oh,” Allura breathes, shifting in a flash and having no care for her cape as she falls to her knees beside Shiro’s body, reaching out a hand to turn his unconscious face toward her, “you found them.”

“Are they okay?” Lance asks cautiously from behind her, the sound of Hunk’s footsteps not far behind. Allura can see Pidge turning Keith onto his side from the corner of her eye, Hunk stepping forward to help her straighten his limbs. Neither make a sound.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, pushing Shiro’s hair back from his forehead. Both are in their paladin-form and naked, no trace of cape or mask to be found. Keith’s skin is covered with fractured lines, traces of lightning gone to ground in flesh, his hair matted and breathing shallow. Shiro is relatively unharmed until you notice the wreck of his right arm, which is missing below the bicep and covered to the shoulder in burns and soot. 

“What do we do?” Hunk’s voice is low, and Allura closes her eyes for a moment to listen.

“We bury them in the mud,” she says finally, “and then we sing.”

\--

Day fades into night which melts into dawn, the airy fingers of rosy light stroking the edges of the sky as the sun begins to rise on the seventh day. Allura can feel herself reeling with exhaustion, but she doesn’t mind it, because she can feel beneath the fatigue the strength of the magic that has steadily grown around them and which now pulses and breathes like a living thing. They’ve sung the ash away, sung the leaves back onto the trees. They’ve sung the water clear and fresh, the frogs back into croaking, the crickets into chirping. All around them the breeze is sweet and shimmering with life, the magic of the oasis feeding into them and out through them, renewing itself through the channel of their sound.

She can pick out the tones of her fellow paladin-birds around her, the cheerful tenor of Lance’s chirps, the warbling brightness of Pidge’s call. Hunk’s tuneless basso underpins her own more melodious song, and they all combine to a single held note as the sun crests above the mesa, dragging its fingers across the surface of the clear waters in front of them.

Their held note fades into silence that echoes, only to be broken by a sudden shaky inhale. 

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice cracks as he sits up suddenly, reaching around him in a panic, eyes wide. “ _ Shiro _ , where are…”

“I’m right here,” Shiro answers steadily, and Allura exhales her relief, watching as Shiro reaches out to take Keith’s searching fingers with his own remaining hand.

“You saved me,” Keith breathes, the abject astonishment on his face painful to watch, and Shiro leans over to pull Keith against him. 

“You saved us,” Shiro corrects, and Keith buries his face his Shiro’s shoulder. Allura can feel Lance coming to settle at her side, can see Hunk and Pidge pulling together on the other side of them. 

“But now you’re stuck with me,” Keith says suddenly, gesturing at his bare form, “you’re trapped like this.” His face falls, and he pulls himself from Shiro’s embrace. “I’m sorry, Shiro,” Keith’s voice is thick, his head bent. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Shiro reaches out to catch Keith’s chin in his hand, holding his gaze for an endless moment as the sun gilds his white hair gold. “We’re alive, and we’re together. C’mon.” He stands and holds out his hand.

Keith takes it gingerly, letting Shiro pull him to his feet, his eyes wide in the face of Shiro’s unwavering smile, then shrieks as Shiro hauls him up and over his shoulder, striding out to the middle of the oasis and plunging them both into the water. 

Keith surfaces laughing, Shiro a second behind him, his face transcendent, the sun reflecting rainbows off the drops of water tracing his skin. The sounds of their joy startles the birds from the trees, a great rushing, twittering flight going up around the oasis as both of them laugh and laugh. 

Pidge is the first to break, flinging herself into the water with a squeal, Lance and Hunk behind her, splashing at each other, and then at Shiro and Keith. Allura stands and stretches, letting the sun wash over her as she steps into the warm shallows, letting the moisture sink renewal into her skin. 

Because she is still watching, she can see the moment that Keith turns to Shiro, eyes alight with joy. 

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he says softly, “I feel like a new thing.”

Shiro nods, bending his head to bring their faces together. “We’re the first, you and I, in a new world.” He closes his eyes, and Allura catches her breath at the light that envelops them both as Shiro continues, his voice as steady and kind as the moment he first spoke to Keith, a guttering flame lost on the desert sand. “And there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The mythology in this piece is loosely based (but is not a one-to-one match) for various origin stories/myths from around the world. If you're interested, here's what I was working from (please note these were simply jumping off points, and no authentic representation is implied, nor any disrespect):
> 
> Keith is a [phoenix](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoenix_\(mythology\))/[rarog](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rar%C3%B3g)/[firebird](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firebird_\(Slavic_folklore\))/[fenghuang](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fenghuang)  
> Shiro is a [thunderbird](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thunderbird_\(mythology\)) mixed with a [tengu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tengu)  
> pidge is a [quetzal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quetzal)  
> allura is a [nightingale](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_nightingale#Cultural_connotations) crossed with an [alicanto](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alicanto)  
> hunk is a [cinnamon bird](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinnamon_bird) crossed with a [sarimanok](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarimanok)  
> lance is a [bluebird](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bluebird_of_happiness) and/or a [qingnaio](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qingniao)  
> There is a [gamayun](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamayun)  
> The galra are [lightning birds](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lightning_bird), led by haggar (an [alkonost](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alkonost) crossed with a [harpy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harpy)) and Zarkon (an [achiyalabopa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achiyalabopa) crossed with a [gryphon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Griffin))
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
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> 
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